Page 12 of The Red Slippers

“You’ve known him less than three weeks,” her father said. “You grew up with Marcel. Speak to him, spend time together before you decide against him. Your security is important to us and is all your mother and I care about.”

Her mother gave her father a silent signal.

“Your mother and I stood in the back of the theatre. You flew through the air like a beautiful bird. I’m proud of you, but now it’s time to think clearly of the future.”

“You must be tired.” Her mother put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “Go to sleep. Everything will be clearer in the morning.”

Cosette took the rose, went to her room, and placed the glass on the window ledge. The red bud hadn’t opened, hadn’t begun to live. Like the flower, there was so much ahead of her, so much promise. Why couldn’t her parents see that?

She gazed into the old bronze mirror frame covered with a green patina, the surface of the looking glass tainted with black spots where the silver was worn off. The image of a pretty ballerina who danced hours ago for the queen and her guests stared back, but underneath the reflection was a mixture of excitement, rage, and grief. She wanted to dance. The reflection drew her closer.

“Be honest with yourself, if no one else.” A heavy sigh left her lips. “Is it dancing or Avery you want?”

Her answer came quickly. She wanted both.

Unable to look at herself a moment longer, she turned away, undressed, and climbed into bed. The dream of dancing in the Paris Opera Ballet slowly slipped away.

Marcel. The thought of the man made her shiver. He wasn’t a bad man. He was pleasant looking, but he wasn’t Avery.

Suzanne’s words echoed in her head. Did Avery approach every new dancer and woo them? No. He wouldn’t do that to her. Avery was sincere. Her body and mind exhausted, she gave up, closed her eyes, and fell into a restless sleep.

FIVE

Mist covered the ground like a writhing blanket and hung like a pall shrouding the surroundings, but Cosette didn’t care. The orchestra played and she danced.

Her steps brought her face-to-face with Suzanne. Their dance was well rehearsed.

“Avery plays sweet with all the new dancers.” Suzanne spun away and returned. “He is very good at making you feel there is no one else in the room when he speaks to you. No one else matters until he goes to the next person, and you realize you are a member of the company and nothing more.”

As the music swelled other dancers joined them. They danced until once again Suzanne was the only one with her, except it wasn’t Suzanne. Avery stood in front of her.

“We’ve already had our first dance. Surely, you can call me Avery.” He assisted her with her arabesque, but he looked elsewhere. When she turned to see what had his attention his hands didn’t let her turn. She tried again. Again, he held her fast. One last effort and he dropped his hands and danced away.

“Where are you going? I need you.”

He didn’t answer just leapt away until he was lost in the mist.

The music changed. It was almost time for her grandjeté. The queen and Madame Camargo sat in the box high above the mist. Alone on stage, there was a movement behind her. Avery stood with a dancer that wasn’t part of the company.

“The corps de ballet, Monsieur Dubois?” the new dancer asked.

“Avery.” She swallowed hard, biting back tears.

He looked at her unmoved by her pain, turned his back to her, and put his arm around the dancer. “To become a principal dancer takes years but with my help, it wouldn’t take you long. Not after tonight.”

She tried to call out to him again but couldn’t speak around the hot knot in her throat.

A red rose dropped in front of her. Before she could grasp it, the corps de ballet danced across the stage. Cosette tried to rescue the bud, but the dancers’ feet were in the way. When the stage cleared there wasn’t much left but a trampled flower.

The music stopped. The maestro tapped his baton on his podium. Each strike louder than the one before until her hands covered her ears to block out the thundering sound. At last, the pounding stopped, and the music started, three bars before her solo.

Driven by an urgent need to dance, Cosette fought to move her feet, but no matter what she did, they wouldn’t move. She glanced at the box. It was empty. She glanced at Avery. The stage was empty. Near hysterics, she glanced at the maestro. All that remained was his empty podium.

The mist thinned and in the distance a figure moved toward her. Tears still trembled on her eyelids. He had returned. Her focus shifted to the yellow silk dress over his arm, a blood stain trailing down the skirt. Avery? Her eyes searched his face. It was Marcel.

Hot tears rolled down her cheek while she sobbed and cried herself to sleep.

A ray of sunshine moved across the small window ledge capturing the glass and diverting the light onto her face. Cosette blinked and raised onto her elbows. The rose bud had opened. It was beautiful but the bloom wouldn’t last much longer.

---